Carousels
by golf on sunday
Summary: "I have a friend who once told me— love is like a carousel. You can't be afraid to grab for the brass ring, and if, by chance, the music does end, then you have to get off for the next person." / So, he was gorgeous. And talented. And good looking. But she'd already known that, hadn't she? The trouble was, she wasn't sure how to handle him. Not nearly as sure as she had to be. / AU


**A/N:** _Grand welcome to my new story, Carousels. I hope that you guys stick along for the whole ride throughout the process of this story.__  
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_This is an AU future!fic, and revolves around martial arts and Jack/Kim's relationship. I decided to make the Jack in this story a little rakish in some parts, but I think it ties into the story wonderfully. Slight crack!fic humour if you stand on your head :)._

_So, without further ado, please enjoy the first chapter of "Carousels"._

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own, nor do I profit from, the Disney XD program "Kickin' It" or the characters therein. The following are simply used in the following story for my own entertainment. No copyright infringement intended.  
_

**Copyright © 2013 eastern side sunsets.**

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_"The masters of life know the way, for they listen to the voice within them, the voice of wisdom and simplicity,  
__the voice that reasons beyond cleverness and __knows beyond knowledge."_

_- Benjamin Hoff_

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**Carousels: Chapter One**

**First Impressions**

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_She ran out of the room; a streak of blonde past the oak doorjamb, and fled as quickly as her legs would take her. Everything had gone wrong._

_Everything was ruined._

_Everything she worked so hard to build had crumbled in front of her eyes. The years that she had spent carefully constructing the walls around her trust and her heart had been crushed into nothing but dust. When she cared enough to let her guard down, when she cared enough to not look at what was behind her— that was when everything that she was running from kept coming back to smash her in the face. To taunt her._

_She leaned against the wall, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the window in front of her. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball of self pity and disgust. Wanted nothing more than to wallow in her own sorrow and grief at something that had turned so quickly, so wrong. Wanted nothing more to be anywhere else than where she was. She quickly dashed at a tear that had made it's way past her defenses, and stared, transfixed, at the scene outside the gleaming glass. Her eyes were bloodshot, the traces of barely visible makeup from the night before were smudged around her eye sockets.__  
_

_And when she stood up again an hour later, weak and wrecked, her eyes were dry. She wouldn't allow herself the luxury of tears. Her legs mechanically walked over to the mirror, and looked at her reflection. Was she supposed to look any different? She was sure that an hour of grief would have had a profound effect, in the least. Her eyes and nose were both a deep scarlet red, but nothing else had changed. She was still herself; blonde hair, hazel eyes and all. Yet there was an ache in her chest; and that was all the difference she needed. __Everything felt numb. She wasn't sure whether or whether not to be relieved at the lack of emotion. There she was, standing in her room— miserable, hopeless, emotionless._

_Alone._

_She should've known better. Should have thought before her actions. How could she have been so stupid, have so much hubris as to think that she, alone, would be enough? It was bitterly horrifying to be embarrassed so blatantly. Did he think that she couldn't see through his __facade? _

_And yet, he offered what she had been waiting for her whole life; what she had always yearned for, dreamed for. But as always, her trust capabilities held her back. He had offered her happily ever after, and like the idiot she was, she had turned it down. She had worried about schedules, timelines, plane flights, and different countries, and hadn't even bothered to listen to his proposition. Her heart turned in a slow circle as her stomach tied itself into slippery knots at her realization. He was all she could ever ask for; consequences or not._

_Rising to her feet unsteadily, she stumbled out into the hallway in a blind daze and to his door. Her feet dragged against the carpet as she struggled to put one foot in front of the other in her stupor. Hesitantly, she raised her fist, and made __herself tap against the wood three times before she lost her courage. She called out tentatively, "Jack? Are you there? It's me, Kim. We need to talk."_

_There was nothing but the stone cold sound of silence on the other end. Misery wrapped itself around her torso as she raised her hand to knock again. The tight ball of fear in her stomach was only increasing as each second of silence behind the closed doors passed. Did he not want her anymore? Had he already moved on from her within an hour? She pushed all the negative thoughts aside, and struggled to remain calm. That one moment had to be enough; that one moment when she had sworn that he had looked at her maybe a little more than the way he used to look at her. It had to be enough. She refused to believe otherwise._

_"Jack?" she called out again, urgency edging into her voice. "Please, Jack, open up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She hammered her fists lightly against the door. After minutes of no response, she fished the spare key he had given her from her back pocket and jammed it into the door as quickly as possible. As soon as the lock symbol turned green, she forced her sweaty palm to twist the door handle open as she stormed inside, a__nd was greeted by no one._

_The room had been completely cleared, as if there was no trace of there ever being an inhabitant or a guest. The bed was folded neatly, the pillows propped and fluffed at the headboard. A pad of paper and a fresh pen had been put on the desk, along with bags of tea and coffee by the water boiler. A stack of starched towels awaited on the bureau, along with a small card in cursive writing that read: "Hello, and welcome to the Hilton Inn. We hope you enjoy your stay with us!" Three peppermints arranged into a triangle sat next to it. And the reality of it hit her with the force of a mack truck._

_He was gone._

_She sat down onto the bed with a heavy plop, her hands running frantically through her hair. For a minute, she contemplated rushing to the airport to catch the same flight as him; to apologize, to accept, but logic set in when she realized that she'd never be able to find him amidst thirty thousand people, all scrambling to catch flights and go to baggage claim. Her plan was as good as useless. She buried her face in her hands, but her eyes remained as dry as sand. She didn't have any more energy left._

_Everything was ruined._

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_21 days earlier..._

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So, he was gorgeous. And talented. And good looking; you couldn't forget that he was outrageously good looking.

It hardly mattered to Kim. She was a professional publicist, and to a professional, a job was a job. In this case, great looks and personality were bound to help, but that was business. Strictly business. There was nothing that could get in the way of her soaring career; everything was right in the way that she'd wanted it to be. And one hugely successful client wouldn't change that for the worse; if anything, for the better.

No, personally it didn't matter one bit. After all, she'd met a few gorgeous men in her life, in and out of her rather strenuous job. She'd also met a few rich ones, a few talented ones too, and so forth, though she had to admit she'd never met a man with all those elusive qualities rolled up in one jumble. She'd never had the opportunity to work with one. Now she finally did.

The fact was, Jack Brewer's looks, charm, reputation, and skill were going to make her job an absolute _pleasure_ to work with the debonair, or so she was told. Still, with her office door closed, Kim scowled down at the ten-by-twelve glossy black-and-white publicity photo of him beaming guilelessly at her from the cherry-maple desk. It looked to her as though he'd be more trouble than pleasure.

Although he hailed from California state, Jack Brewer had a rich and multi-cultural background, and spoke English, Japanese, and Italian fluently, as well as some broken spanish and mandarin. He had spent the majority of his teenage years in Seaford, California, before moving to Japan for a few years to attend the prestigious Otai Academy of Martial Arts on a full-expense paid scholarship. He had also dabbled briefly in the film-industry, and although the movie had been a complete failure at the box-office, critics had been acclaiming him as an _"exceptionally talented amateur actor whom we hope to see more of". _After Japan, he moved to a small town in Italy near the coast that Kim could scarcely pronounce, where he currently resided alone and trained.

Jack grinned cockily up at her through the photo, his light brown, almond-shaped eyes amused and bumptious. The full, thick, and dark hair was appealingly disheveled with a bit of a curl along the nape of his neck and over his ears, where is fell to skim his collar and stopped just short of his eyebrows. Not too much- just enough to disarm. The strong facial bones, jauntily curved mouth, straight nose and expressive brows combined to create a face destined to sabotage any woman's common sense. Gift or cultivated talent, Kim wasn't certain, but she'd have to use it to her advantage. Tours could be murder.

Just thinking about the arrogance she would no doubt be confronted with when she met him for the first time left a vitriolic taste in her mouth.

A martial artist. Kim tried, and failed, not to sigh. Jack Brewer was considered one of the highest tiered martial artists in the world, and whether she liked it or not, he was her biggest assignment to date. Why a world-class karate expert needed publicity and a tour, she would never know, nor did she particularly want to. The only thing she knew at the moment was to never question her superiors, no matter how odd the job was.

She loved her job as a publicist and was content at the moment working for Trinity Press; the publisher and public relations firm she currently worked for. At twenty-four, the ambition she had started with nearly half a decade ago as a receptionist for the major company had waned very little ever since she had started as a bright eyed and bushy tailed intern who fetched coffee three days a week, and her job had quickly burgeoned from there. She had worked, hustled, studied, and sweated for her own position and office. She had them, but the blonde wasn't nearly ready to relax.

In three years, by her own calculations, she'd be ready to make the next jump: opening her own public relations firm. Naturally, she'd have to start out small, but it was building the business that was exciting. The contacts and experiences she had gained in her early twenties would help her indefinitely, as well as her penchant for journalism that her english teacher had cultivated and blossomed during her high school years. Kim was sure of that.

For now though, she had a martial arts demo tour and a slick rogue trained in XMA whom had briefly appeared on a movie screen. Brewer, she thought wryly, had a track record- with publicity and women. Especially the latter, but it wasn't the time to dwell on his long string of "friends" at the moment. She had more important things to do, like checking to make sure all the radio spots and interviews were as planned.

He'll be in for quite the hustle in the twenty-one day tour, Kim thought to herself. One last study of his shiny publicity shot and the charmingly crooked grin assured her he would be able to handle it.

In the meantime, there was a bit more groundwork to cover with Brewer's tour before dreaming about her own firm and public relations publishing. There were papers that needed to be placed, names that needed to be committed to memory, interviews that needed to be planned, and time lines that needed to be checked, double checked, triple checked, and confirmed one last time by the blonde herself. No, she didn't trust anyone else to do her own work. Creating and planning a schedule was a pleasure, adhering to one a challenge. She thrived on both.

Kim lifted her slim black cordless phone and buzzed her assistant, her head already spinning with calculations and timelines. Having a impassive nature both in and out of work, she was notoriously known for late work nights and extra work hours. And although she had gotten countless recommendations and pleased reviews from superiors, Kim never let the compliments make her hubris. She kept everything in her life organized, and lead an exclusively no-paraphernalia lifestyle. But personally, she didn't mind at all, because in a way, it was a compliment. Kim considered herself to be efficient, hardworking, and no nonsense. She had worked her way to the top by following that motto, and if it had earned her misguided nicknames along the way, then so be it.

What others thought of Kim rarely got her side-tracked, and she penned her names as a role and symbol of her superiority towards the others in the office. There would be no lugubrious crying or moaning allowed in her office, so as long as she held a title.

"Anna, get me Dianne Terry with _The Terry Show._"

"Going for the big guns, huh?"

Kim gave a quick, unprofessional and wolfish grin that her assistant couldn't see over the phone, one that she made sure no one could see. "Yeah." She replaced the phone and started making hurried notes on the yellow sticky-note attached to her computer moniter. Kim swore softly when the blue Bic pen ran out of ink, tossed it in the trash, and quickly grabbed a new one before she completely lost her train of thought. No reason not to start at the top, she told herself silently. That way, in the off chance that she did fall flat on her face, the climb to the peak would have been worth it.

When the intercom buzzed, she caught her tongue between her teeth. Now, she had to apply everything she knew and get Brewer on one of the most watched talk shows in the States; no matter what the ramifications.

Once she did, she thought to herself as she pressed the button, he'd better make the most of it. Or else she would slit his sexy throat with his own katana.

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Jack had no idea what Kim looked like, but he put himself in the hands of fate. What he did know, from the letters he had received from her, was that Kim Crawford was the kind of American his mother had described; smart and practical.

Physically was another matter, as he had never seen her before in his life; not even a mere photograph or description of her. He was, in a sense, left completely in the dark about whom this elusive _Kim Crawford _was. But then again, as Jack had learned from previous experiences; it was better to higher your expectations than lower them. He'd much rather be disappointed than pessimistic.

Perhaps he did prefer, in his personal life, a woman with a lovely shell, but not everyone was born with perfect chestnut hair, blue eyes, and a statuesque body. And he had learned to accept that.

Still, as he stepped off his plane terminal in L.A., he had his hand on the elbow of a stunning redhead flight attendant dressed in a conservative streamlined blue suit and white gloves, her fiery hair tumbling in loose ringlets around tanned shoulders and a scent that smelled like musky french noir. She had proven to be an, enjoyable- to say the least- associate, who dreamed of one day earning her pilot's license.

Kim did know what he looked like, and she first saw him shoulder to shoulder with a luxuriously built woman in pencil heels, a full mane of curly red hair, and siren green eyes that were sparkling with laughter and secrets. The minx was all but draped over him, and she was giggling too, even though it didn't look like he had said anything humorous. A small smirk crossed the blonde's face as she watched on; the packaging was luxurious, but inside that pretty little box was absolutely nothing but air and helium. She took a quick assessment of the well-tailored slacks and starched white open collared shirt that Jack wore, and subconsciously glanced at her crumpled outfit from the fifty-three mile drive. Compared to him, she felt formal and sticky.

As she watched him kiss the redhead's knuckles, she wiped off her sarcastic smirk and the rude thoughts in her head, and rose to greet him. The redhead was sending one last wistful look over her shoulder before turning away and disappearing into the dispersing crowd; where the fiery mane bobbed for a few second before completely disappearing from view.

"Mr. Brewer?"

Jack turned away from the woman who had proven to be a pleasant traveling companion on the long flight from a New York business trip. His first look at Kim brought a quick flutter of interest and a subtle tug of desire. He didn't do anything for a moment, other than observe and see where it led him.

She didn't have merely a lovely face, but an interesting one. Her skin was caught somewhere in between a light tan and ivory that looked porcelain smooth and exceptionally free of flaws or creases, yet the strong, prominent cheekbones on the diamond-shaped face gave an intriguing aura to the otherwise fragile face, and sculpted the baby-doll smile into one of icy hostility. A smattering of barely visible light gold freckles decorated the bridge of her nose, and gave her a sunny California girl look; a stereotype that was shattered at first glance into the eyes.

Her eyes were large, heavily lashed, and artfully accented to bring out the flecks of chocolate swirls and dark mossy green in her hazel eyes. Her nose was small and straight, her mouth quirked in a business trade-mark style smile that was glossed over in a thin sheen of veneer and sophistication. She stood prim and proper, with her hands folded neatly by her sides. Kim Crawford, indeed, reminded him of a Victorian doll. Just a little prim, aloof, and very nice to look at.

Her hair was a light butter blonde, with whispers of light brown and chestnut red artfully threaded through the soft honey-cloured stalks of wheat. She wore it long enough to be pinned back in an chignon or styled into a sleek top-knot when she wished, but short enough to fuss quickly with the sides when she was in a hurry. It currently fell, a free fall of light yellow rain in soft waves onto her shoulders, and Jack imagined what it would be like to move his hand through the silk of her hair for just a brief moment in time.

"I'm Kim Crawford, from Trinity," she told him when she'd felt he had stared long enough. She refrained herself from shifting uncomfortably, and reminded herself that this client could be a huge advantage to her possible own company when she started her own firm. The thoughts made Kim's voice a little stronger when she spoke again. "Welcome to L.A. I hope that you had an enjoyable time." As he took the hand she offered, she realized she should've expected him to kiss it rather than to shake it. Still, she stiffened, hardly more than an instant, but she saw the lift of his brow. He had noticed her reaction.

"A beautiful woman makes a man welcome anywhere."

His voice was incredible, with just a tiny hint of an exotic European accent that clashed with his seemingly all-American looks. It was something that didn't settle altogether with Kim; she would have preferred him to be fat, short, and balding in retrospect. Or one with slick humor, greased back hair, and a pearly white smile that spoke levels of fake. She would have rather been assigned to someone with soft and easily ignored charm.

There was nothing easily ignored about Jack Brewer.

Thinking of the willowy ginger with sparkling vixen eyes that he had just left behind scarcely three and a half minutes earlier, Kim gave him an easy, and not entirely friendly smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes, eyes that were still glittering and rock solid; unyielding as ever. Jack grinned inwardly, amused at her cold gestures, and chuckled. Her ears pricked at the sound, and she turned to give him a leveled look with one carefully plucked eyebrow raised.

"Then you must have had a pleasant flight," she mused. Jack understood nuances in every language. He beamed at her cheekily, eyes alight with hidden laughter, dimples flashing near the corner of his mouth for a moment before the creases disappeared once again. He made a small mental note when he watched her squirm uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze as he did so. "Very pleasant."

"And tiring," she said, remembering her position and her job once again. For a moment, she had blanked out after looking at the charming boyish smile flash onto his disarming face. She shook her head and mentally scolded herself in quick successions of rapid curses, reprimanding and reminding that he would be gone and out of her hair in just a few short weeks. Keeping everything simple, Kim thought idealistically as the thoughts and plans whirled through her head at a thousand miles an hour. It was a well-thought out plan if you asked her, but Kim wasn't sure if Jack could do anything simple.

"Your luggage should be in by now." Her eyes flickered down briefly at the large black leather case with a shiny gold label that he carried, firmly tucked in left hand. She sent Jack her best company smile as she spoke in order to compensate for the harshness had no doubt revealed on her face as soon as she'd watched him disembark with the redhead. "Can I take that for you?"

He merely glanced at her, and he hefted the bag onto his other hand to evenly distribute the wight. He gave her a quick one over at her small stature, and calculated that the bag probably weighed a quarter of her slight body-weight. "No, this I can carry by myself. But thank you for the offer; which way to baggage claim? I'm a little disoriented."

Indicating the way with the point of one manicured finger, she fell into step beside him as they walked towards the baggage claim, following the dirty white signs and cracked black arrows that gave direction, much to her relief. It had been awhile since she'd been to the L.A. International Airport, and showing cluelessness to a client; especially one that could determine her career, was not something to be taken lightly. "It's a half an hour ride to Beverly Wilshire, but after you've settled in, you can rest all afternoon. I'd like to go over tomorrow's schedule with you this evening." She looked at him for approval, and was pleased when he nodded back and continued to listen to her intently.

Meanwhile, Jack was absorbed in his own thoughts as the words continued to stream quickly and fluently out of her mouth. He liked the way she walked. Though she wasn't very tall, she moved in long, unhurried strides that made the red side-pleated skirt she wore shift over her hips. His eyes flickered back up to meet the blonde's, and he cut of her incessant babbling with the small motion of a hand.

"Over dinner?"

She sent him a quick sidelong look. "If you'd like."

She'd be at his disposal, Kim reminded herself, for the next three weeks. So she had to pace herself with the world. Still, Kim could't help but think that this tour would be anything but easy and uncomplicated. She just hoped that it would work to her advantage, since she normally thrived on the challenging. Without appearing to think about it, she skirted around a barrel-chested man lugging a bulging garment bag and a shiny leather briefcase. Yes, he liked the way she walked, Jack though again. She was a person who could take care of herself without a great deal of fuss.

"How about seven tonight? You have quick demo with an interview in the morning that starts at seven-thirty, so we'd best make it an early evening," Kim said, confirming the date and time in her iPhone's schedule as she walked.

Seven thirty in the morning. Jack thought, only briefly, about jet lag and time changes and sighed quietly, not loud enough for the efficient businesswoman to hear or to catch a clue from. Already calculating how many hours of sleep he would be able to squeeze in before the next morning, Jack closed his eyes momentarily and pressed his finger to his temples. He started to object, and then realized that the idea probably wasn't the best considering their dissonant natures. _Pacing, it's all about the pacing._ "So, you put me to work quickly."

"That's what I'm here for, Mr. Brewer." Kim said it cheerfully as she stepped up to the slowly moving baggage belt with multicolored luggages revolving ever so slowly. "Do you have your stubs with you?"

An organized woman, he thought as he reached into the inside pocket of his loose fitted buff-colored jacket and dug around for a moment through spare gum wrappers and an old mentos cap before finding the ticket and tax stubs, all wrapped up in a rubber band. In silence, he handed them to her, then hefted a pullman and a garment bag from the belt and setting them on the floor.

One quick look at the gold engraved labels on his luggages confirmed her suspicions. Gucci, she observed with quiet disdain and admiration. So, he had taste, as well as money. She made a note of it in her head for later as Kim handed the stubs to a skycap and waited while Jack's luggage was loaded onto the pushcart so that they could head over to the limo parked outside in the east wing of the airport parking garage. "I think you'll be pleased with what we have for you, Mr. Brewer." She walked through the automatic doors and called for her limo with the small wave of a hand.

Though Jack had expected her to climb into the limo first, she stepped back and, much to his surprise, opened the doors for him instead, and ushered him quickly inside. With a bow to women professionals, Jack ducked under the low, dark roof and took his seat. Kim slid in front of him, and closed the door firmly before signaling for the driver to start the engine. The limo roared to life, and within a few seconds, the speedometer hovered barely over 70 miles per hour, the land passing by in a blur of colour and skyscrapers as they navigated through the bustling terrain.

"Do you like your job, Ms. Crawford?"

She settled into the seat across from him and buckled the seatbelt firmly across her waist before she answered. As she spoke, she shot him a straight-shooting, level look, making her glittering hazel eyes seem years above her age. The darkness enveloped her light face as they passed through a tunnel, before the sun's rays came out again to greet the two passenger. "Yes, I do. I wouldn't be doing it if I wasn't content with it."

"But being content isn't the same thing as enjoyment," Jack retorted, his hands clasped firmly at his sides. At her deafening silence, Jack took the response as cue to not push too far into the subject. Instead, he settled on something much more familiar, and comforting to him. A thought that he had grown up with, been nurtured for, and learned; martial arts.

"You've ever seen me perform or any sort of XMA demonstration at all prior to this?"

Kim nodded slightly, her eyes amused. "Of course I do. I couldn't promote someone without research and background information." She sat back. It was easy for her to do her job when she could speak the simple truth. It came easily to her, especially when it came to matters of the heart. As long as they weren't too personal, of course. "I was pretty impressed with it. Something I could never do myself." She shrugged her small shoulders delicately; a small, careless movement that had her light blonde hair shifting into a wild tumultuous waterfall that Jack thought suited her much better than her primly pin straightened hair.

"Hmm. Have you ever tried anything like it?"

She shrugged lazily again, and shook her head. "No, I rarely even go to the gym." She stated it simply, then folded her legs and crossed her arms. The Kim Crawford that he had met twenty minutes ago was the same; in terms of physically, and mentally. Yet there was a slight difference in him, and more specifically the impression he had of her. And even though she wasn't the kind that he normally sought after, she intrigued him. A challenge, he mused, was something that he would always welcome. And this one seemed like an irresistible challenge, to break through the carefully made ice barrier of none other than Kim Crawford.

"You don't…" His hazy interest came into attention as his brown eyes sharpened an re-focused with a new light on the blonde sitting in front of him. He gave her a quick, and not-so-subtle glance at the shapely legs and small waist that tapered slightly. "At all? No karate lessons when you were a kid, no self-defense classes in college, nothing? A treadmill, perhaps?"

She had to smile. He looked so sincerely shocked, although it didn't jar his disarmingly stunning features one bit. And that fact did make her a bit agitated. Was there anything, just absolutely anything, that could make this person less perfect perhaps? Something that made him a bit more plausible to pigeon-hole into the human level, maybe? The one thing that she had learned while on the job was that everyone had at least one undesirable quality. Yet it seemed like the man sitting in front of her seemed to deny all her carefully thought out logic.

As he watched the perfect mouth curve, he had to pull the next tug of interest and desire in check.

"When you're a failure at something, Mr. Brewer, you leave it to someone else. Especially when it involves breaking bricks and tearing ligaments." She gave him a quick smile, one that didn't appear on her face very often, and one he felt that should've. It was something that turned that flawless face of hers into one resembling a formal _Malibu Barbie. _He meant it, of course, in the least offense.

"I could teach you." The idea intrigued him. He never offered his expertise lightly, and perhaps it would be just one more challenge in unraveling the mysterious bundle of nerves that all but begged him to implore deeper into her. He watched as the expression on her face changed from shock, delight, coldness, and then finally settle on amusement.

"Martial arts?" She laughed, relaxing enough to heel slip out of her shoe as she swung her foot back and forth in a pendulum motion. " I don't think so." The smile that had appeared briefly on her face was still there. It wasn't a full pearly whites smile, but it was something nevertheless. And her cool and professional business-like smiles were a far cry from the one that was on her face at the moment.

"I'm an excellent teacher," he said it with a slow smile.

She gave him a careful gaze, her eyes now just a slit of hazel covered by thick lashes and pale eyelids. "I don't doubt it. I, on the other hand, am a poor student." She made a careless gesture with her hands as she said it, as if it was a difficult subject that she had come to terms with. "I'm a very slow learner. My parents say that I didn't start walking until all the other toddlers my age were running and jumping rope with their classmates. I think it's slow development skills, but they insist on using more courteous terms when it comes to things like that."

"Your age?" When her look narrowed at the sudden change of topic, he smiled charmingly, straight white teeth flashing for a brief moment on the stunning face. "A rude question when a woman's reached a certain age. You haven't." If there had been more light, the brunet would have seen the flush of colour creep into her face at his words.

"Twenty-four," she said it so coolly and monotonously that his smile became a wide chesire-cat grin. "You?" Not that she didn't already know; she'd practically had to do a background check on him per her boss's orders. Jack Matthew Brewer, born in Seaford, California, currently lived in Rome, Italy, in a small plaza that Kim couldn't pronounce and trained with a nearby dojo every weekend. He spoke three languages, and currently was single. Brewer was 25, turning 26 next year on June 17. He had broken his left leg three times and torn a ligament when he was thirteen, and currently held the world record for most amounts of bricks broken. it was absolutely amazing what one google search could reveal on one person.

"Twenty five." He paused, for just a moment, and thought for a minute. "You look younger," Jack said it truthfully, and threw her a small wink that had Kim scrambling for her thoughts. "I'd find it a pleasure to give you some lessons sometime," he repeated, and was met with the shake of her head. "At least give it some consideration. Who knows? Maybe it'll be a natural talent of your's that you never bothered to try." Once again, she mouthed the word "no" to his persistent questions. He gave her a pleading look, "I'm an excellent mentor."

Kim believed him. She too, understood nuances, and in turn gave him an aloof smile, the grin on her face and the expression in her eyes cooling down to arctic temperatures by several degrees. "A pity our schedule won't permit it."

He pursed his mouth and glanced out the window. The glass skyscrapers passed by in a dazzling blur of fractionated colour, and pedestrians of all shapes and sizes were strolling on the bustling gray asphalt sidewalk. But the shiny lights and ostentatious dazzling sparkles of the L.A. highway didn't interest him, and he found himself staring once again at the level headed Ms. Crawford, an amused and goofy grin on his face. "You put Seaford, California in the schedule as I requested?"

Kim glanced at her built-in phone calendar for reference. "We have a full day there before we fly up to Boston. Then we'll finish up back in New York."

"Good, I have a few friends there from awhile back. I haven't seen them in a few years, and it would be really nice to catch up with them during this trip. Thank you, I really appreciate it," he replied, and flashed her a dimpled smile. Kim gave a curt nod and a stiff smile, the business-like barricade not even chipping an inch as she did. She was sure he had friends; female ones, who could warm a bed in ten seconds flat- everywhere. Her mind still not at ease, she rolled her shoulders gently, a small, careless movement that spoke volumes.

"You've been to Los Angeles before?" he asked her, smiling amicably at the quiet blonde. The charming, boyish grin turned his face into something more approachable, as if they shared an inside joke only the two of them jarringly rogue smile had the blonde's pulse skittering far over the limo's speedometer, and she silently cursed herself under her breath as she took a silent breath in an attempt to calm herself down before he noticed. She thought back to her past schedule a moment for reference. "Yes, several times on business."

"I've yet to come here for a pleasure myself. What do you think of it?"

As he had, she looked out the window, uninterested in the rather repetitive scenes the city had to offer on the freeway as the smoggy skyline whizzed by; the road twisting and turning like a serpent as it weaved around stop signs and other intersections, dotted with the occasional toll booth. She shrugged, simply un-impressed by L.A., and turned back to him, eyes frank and expressionless. "I prefer New York."

"Why?"

She pursed her lips simply, and raised her hands to her shoulders, "More grit, less gloss." He liked her answer, and her phrasing even more. Because of it, he studied her, intrigued, a bit more closely than before. The question in his head was all but six words; yet he knew well enough how to phrase it. "Have you ever been to Rome?"

Her mind drifted as she thought of it. Her smile turned a bit softer, her voice a bit more wistful at the thought of the faraway, exotic place. The previously hard, hazel eyes slowly turned misty, as if a veil of cheesecloth had been pulled over and obscured her vision, and Jack thought that the wonderfully unfocused look it gave her was one that should remain. "No, I've never been to Europe. It would be nice to go on vacation though."

"You'd love it there."

She snapped out of her trance, and he suppressed the urge to curse at the break in the brief success. Once again, the blonde was all business as she picked up her briefcase with a firm iron clasp. The car slid to a slow stop as it pulled around a curb; the pedestrians not bothered by the sudden arrival of the mass car transport. "I'm sure I would." She glanced out again wordlessly as the limo pulled up in the front of a hotel. "Here we are."

He stepped out ahead of her and offered his hand. With one hand on the door handle, she stepped out and into the oncoming surge of people waiting to cross the asphalt road just a block away. When she finally stood still on the sidewalk and closed the car door, he didn't move back to give her room. Instead, he experimented with the sensation of bodies brushing lightly, even politely, on the public street. Her gaze came up to his, not wary but direct.

He felt it, the pull. Not the tug that was impersonal and for any woman, but the pull that went to straight to his gut. But he let no trace of emotion flash into his eyes, and instead kept the quietly stoic expression on his face.

"Some women," he murmured, "never need to look, only to evade and avoid and select."

"Some women," she said just as quietly, her voice barely above a breathy whisper that was almost carried away by the breeze, "choose not to select at all." Deliberately, she turned her back on him to pay the driver, and did not turn to face him when she reached down to pick up her belongings. "I've already checked you in, Mr. Brewer," she said it over her shoulder as she handed his key to the waiting bellboy that stood prim and proper near the entrance to the foyer. "I'm just across the hall from your suite."

Without looking at him, Kim followed the bellboy into the hotel and to the large, scrolled elevators. "If it suits you, I'll make reservations here in the hotel for dinner at seven. You can just tap on my door when you're ready." With a quick check of her ever present ticking gold watch, she calculated the time difference and figured she could make three calls to New York and one to Dallas before office hours were over in the east. "If you need anything, you've only to order it and charge it to the room. Don't worry about the fees."

She stepped out from the elevator as it plateaued on their floor, the small _ding _resonating throughout her ears before the doors slid open silkily. One foot in front of the other, she briskly walked onto the white marble floors, unzipping her purse and pulling out her own room key as she did so. "I'm sure you'll find your suite enjoyable. Just ring if there are any problems."

He watched her brisk, economic movements with a carefully measure eye. Had she turned earlier, she would have seen the bemused expression on his face, and the curious lift of the arched brow. "I'm sure I will."

"Seven o' clock then," Kim called out loudly, one hand on her doorknob. She was already pushing the room key into the lock, and the green light clicked in response. The blonde twisted the door open just as the bellboy opened the first door to the suite across the hall, his hat tipped at a ninety degree angle. As she did so, entering the room halfway to the threshold, her mind was already on the calls she would have to make, and the tight scheduling she would somehow have to manage.

"Kim."

She turned her head, looking at Jack. She pursed her lips for a moment, unsure of what his next words would be. "Yes?" There was a pregnant silence that filled the air before he responded with vigor, "Don't change your perfume. It suits you." He gave her a quick, disarming wolfish grin and disappeared into his own suite, leaving her staring at a struggling bellboy in the middle of the hall.

As soon as she closed her door, she shed her jacket and shoes, sighing to herself. He'd never know it, she told herself, but her pulse had been behaving horridly since he'd taken her hand from that very first moment. Stupid, she told herself repetively. Her legs weren't quite steady yet, and her knees-caps still felt like loose jello. She'd just wait until they were.

So, he was gorgeous. And talented. And good looking. She'd already known that, hadn't she? The trouble was, she wasn't sure how to handle him. Not nearly as sure as she had to be.

**. . . . .**

She was a woman who thrived on tight scheduling, minute details, and small crises. They were things that kept you alert, sharp, and interested in life overall. If her job bad been simple, there wouldn't have been much fun, or challenge for that matter, to it.

She was also a woman who liked long, lazy bubble baths and big, big, king sized beds with silk linens and fuzzy velvet slippers. They were things that kept her sane, and gave her a much needed dose of indulgence after long work hours; so she felt like she enjoyed the small splurges after a thirteen hour work day. Kim felt that she'd earned the right of a nap after she'd dealt with the first dilemmas.

While Jack amused himself in his own way, Kim spent an hour and a half on the phone, then another hour revising and fine-tuning the next day's itinerary. A print interview had come through and had to be shuffled in. She shuffled. Another paper was sending a reporter and a photographer to the _Sidewsipe _demo. Their name's had been noted and remembered. A brief write-up progress report had to be completed for a follow up. She wrote. The ways things were shaping up, they'd be lucky to manage a two-hour breather the next day. And yet, nothing could have pleased her more.

By the time she'd closed her thick leather bound notebook, she was more than ready for a long, luxurious bath in the white hotel jacuzzi. The bed, unfortunately, would have to wait for just a little bit longer. If she had survived nearly twenty four hours without sleep, what was another three going to do to her? Ten o' clock, she promised herself silently. By ten, she'd be in bed, snuggled in, curled up, and unconscious; dreaming about schedules and new notebooks running across fields of words.

She soaked in the lukewarm water, designating exactly forty-five minutes for her own personal time. In the bath, she didn't plot or plan or estimate. She clicked off the busy, business end of her brain and enjoyed, letting herself sink into the froth of rainbow bubbles that covered the entire perimeter of the water. Her toes rose to skim the surface, and her arms rested on the raised sides of the tub.

Her robe hung on the back of the door, reflected off of a full length mirror propped up against the wall, adjacent to the vanity. The material, soft and luminescent, was a rich jade green silk, the belt currently notched at the third loop. Not a luxury as far as she was concerned. More of a necessity; as was the brewer's yeast, aspirin, and chewable vitamins that she kept in her purse. While the latter three had a decidedly more profound effect, the robe was one of the few things that traveled with her, and kept her lucid.

After she'd relaxed and dreamed a bit, she could appreciate the soft, hot water on her skin; the bubbles scented to smell like English rose petals in the late spring, when the leaves started to crisp and the air started to chill with the anticipation of autumn leaves and golden orchards. The room smelled of the little lavender soap bar she had in the soap dish that was shaped like a smiling ivory fish.

He'd told her not to change her perfume.

Kim scowled as she felt the muscles of her shoulders tense as the aura of a carefree September that had previously filled the room vanished into thin air, leaving her floating and desolate. Her look of lazy enjoyment changed to that of an accusing scowl as she thought about his words. Deliberately she picked up the tiny cake of hotel soap and rubbed it up and down her arms.

Half an hour later, Kim was at her vanity, looking at her pots and tubes of makeup that decorated the faux-granite countertop of the hotel sink. Without it, her face looked entirely too young, too vulnerable- a thought that made her stomach churn uneasily. She made a living out of looking years above her age and her high class glossy polish, and she sure wasn't about to leave it behind if it had already gotten her so far. It was something that didn't settle altogether with her; being seen as vulnerable, or young and näive. With a glance at the wide selection of coral blushes and tubes of jet black mascara, she began creating the professional Ms. Crawford as she whistled an old Beatles tune from memory.

Because she hated quiet hotel rooms, Kim switched on the small television set as she started to dress. The old Bogart-Bacall movie pleased her and was more relaxing than a dozen bubble baths. She listened to the well-known dialogue as she drew on smoke-colored stockings over her thighs and clipped on the square-cut diamond earrings. Immersed, she somehow managed to put on the narrow black dress with a long strand of pearls above the waistline without so much as a glance to what she was doing. Caught up, she sat on the edge of the bed, running a brush through her hair as she watched intensely, eyes glued to the screen, lips pressed firmly shut.

When the knock sounded at her door, she glanced at her watch with a startled look. _7:05_. She had wasted fifteen minutes dawdling. To make up for it, Kim had her shoes on, jewelry placed, and her notebook in hand in twelve seconds flat. She went to the door ready with a greeting and an apology, doing a quick hair check in the mirror on the way.

One rose. The color of a beautiful Naples sunset; the edges a delicate red that contrasted brightly with the dark peach center, as if an artist had deliberately painted it by hand. The petals sprung away from a tightly bundled core, and left the room with the fragrance that reminded her vaguely of the english rose scented bubble bath she had previously splurged in. Mollified, she took the rose, and was delighted to see that the thorns had been carefully trimmed off. _A rose without thorns. _She smiled at the irony of it. When Jack handed it to her, she didn't have anything to say_. _Jack, however, had no problem whatsoever with his speech.

"Kim." He had her hand to his lips before she could even move, and smirked to himself at the shocked expression on her face. It pleased him immensely to see her without words for once. The ever bustling Kim Crawford had no comment on their schedules or itinerary? "Some women look severe or cold in black. Others," he paused for a moment, and gave her a quick one over, "In others it simply enhances their femininity. Am I disturbing you?"

"No, no, of course not. I was just-"

"Ah, I know this movie," he said slowly, his sharp ears picking up the conversation from the screen that she had neglected to turn off in her hurried haste. Without waiting for invitation, he breezed past her into the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed; the exact same spot where she had been sitting, legs dangling carelessly off the sides as he ran a hand through his already ruffled hair. Kim didn't know why, but the thought of them sitting in the same locations sent vibrations up her spine. She just hadn't decided if they were negative or positive yet. She certainly didn't want it to be the latter.

His voice, low and persuasive, broke into her thoughts. She blinked once before her vision cleared again, and turned her brain back on. "I've seen it many times." He paused, and clicked off the set with the press of a button on the remote. "We'd better get going, right?" The blonde took a minute to recollect herself, and just to seem busy, she grabbed her black clutch from the bureau and started to dig around inside aimlessly, looking for nothing. "Right," she answered quickly.

Kim adjusted her evening bag over her shoulder, and tightened her grasp and her notebook. But she didn't put the fragrant and vivid rose down onto the table. Not just yet. She flashed him a beam, and the brightness of it momentarily shocked the brunet. "We've got a lot to discuss over dinner, Mr. Brewer."

"Lead the way."

**. . . . .**

What did he think of her? Jack asked himself the question and the answer come in snatches, twined throughout the evening.

Lovely. He didn't consider his affection for beautiful women a weakness, nor a ploy. It was simply something that had always come to him. Growing up as an only child, he had found himself often longing for siblings, and his only female influence had been his mother. During high school and through much of his adolescent years, Jack had caught up on his decidedly _lack of_ female skills, one that had compensated him through much trial and error. When a man wasn't interested in a woman, especially one like Kim Crawford, he was better off dead.

She was ambitious, but he admired that as well. Although he had a particular penchant and a soft spot for those with doe like feminine beauty, those who lacked the ability of sheer _want _often bored him quickly; there was simply nothing worth digging for underneath a pretty shell. Beautiful women without drive or ambition often lost his interest.

She didn't trust him. That amused him more than anything else, and only challenged him more to see how far she could bend before finally cracking on him. As he drank his second glass of sparkling apple cider- he wasn't too keen on alcohol before bed time- he decided that her wariness was a compliment, in a sort of way. Her eyes were buried in her notebook, so they didn't notice Jack's slow, steady smirk that spread across his face as she babbled about the schedule. His fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on the chartreuse table cloth as he thought out his best route of getting underneath her skin.

"_Hello L.A. _is first tomorrow; they've just added a new health and exercise portion, which you'll be in. You have the full twenty minutes, so I think that should be enough to complete the demo and a quick interview." She made a hasty check mark next to something that he couldn't quite see, and jotted down a few notes in the margins.

"I'm with you so far."

She continued, never breaking pace as she read off of her notes. "The host for _Hello L.A._, Liz Marks, is personable- not too bubbly. Most people don't want bubbly at 7:30 in the morning." Kim made a small gesture of her hand, and nearly smiled when she heard his relieved breath, "Thank god. The last thing I need is some kind of happy-go-lucky redhead pumping me fore details on t.v. shows when I'm barely half awake."

"Liz has brown hair," the blonde remarked mildly, not even bothering to give him a bemused glance at his remark. "You'll be doing a Q&A session on Wilshire Boulevard between two and three o'clock." She hastily made a small note in her book to do a last minute check of it. "You might want to mention where the next arrival areas of the twenty-one day tour are, and when the next date of a _Sideswipe _show will be."

"Mmmhmm." He nibbled on a cracker smeared with a brown sauce that Kim could not identify, "This pâté is very good. Would you like some of mine?"

"No thanks, just go ahead." She reached for her glass of white wine absentmindedly, and took a tentative gulp before continuing. "Right after we'll be going to a radio-spot, just very quickly, you might not even speak on air much, but we're trying to squeeze in as much coverage as we can get. Then we'll have brunch with a reporter from _Times. _After, you have an interview with Dianne Terry, with the _Terry Show. _The next day-"

"One day at a time," he said easily, "that way I'll be less likely to snarl at you."

"All right." She closed her notebook and folded her hands on her lap, her fingers fiddling; itching for a task to complete. It was simply her nature to always be moving, although she seemed to have put it off, her mind was still spinning with calculations for the next three weeks of the publicity tour. "After all, it's my job to check all the details, yours to do the stunts and be charming."

He touched his glass to hers, the chime of the two crystal goblets ringing for a moment. "Then neither of us has a problem. To be charming is my life."

Was he laughing at himself, she wondered, or at her? "From what I see, you seem to excel at it," she tested the waters delicately, and waited, baiting his response. When it did come, she simply grimaced at what he said in return, "Ah, but Ms. Crawford, some things cannot be trained, but born and honed with. " His dark, deep set eyes were amused and twinkling. He raised his glass to his lips, apparently calm, yet his eyes were dancing with humor and life as he watched her slowly over the rim of the glass, and a slow, calculated smile graced his lips.

So, he was laughing at the both of them, she discovered. It was difficult and wise not to like him for it.

When her small salad was served, she merely glanced at it. But one look at Jack's plate had her eyes bulging. There was a heap of veal and a small, medium-rare steak, the criss crossing grill marks braised on both sides of the meat. Another plate was also in front of him, this one with a full rack of baby back ribs slathered in barbecue sauce and a thin coating of freshly ground sea-salt with pepper. On the side was a steaming pile of mashed potatoes covered in gravy, all set off with a side of shiny green beans and another glass of apple cider.

"If you eat that much on a daily basis, it's a wonder you're not fat and as round as a meatball," Kim commented idly as she picked up her fork and dug into her bowl of greens.

Jack watched, fascinated and amused, as she dribbled a stingy amount of low fat dressing on her tiny plate of salad and speared a blood red baby tomato with her fork before popping it in her mouth and chewing quickly, as if she still had a time limit; even when eating dinner. "Exercise. Besides, if you only live on salad, you'll never grow." He shot her a sidelong glance at her small stature and raised a brow, but proceeded to say nothing more.

So, she wasn't the tallest. Or the most muscular. Or curviest. At practically five-foot-nothing; or five-feet-three as a more accurate description, she had never eaten much. And seeing as her petite nature always limited her to what she could eat before she would feel like a balloon bursting with helium, Kim had never thought much about it. But seeing her newest client's appetite made her– for the first time in what seemed like years– fully question her weight and palate.

"I think you, Kim Crawford, eat much too little."

She met his look as he had hoped she would eventually. Her eyes were expressionless, and betrayed nothing of her emotions. When she spoke, her voice was clipped and frank, as if she was speaking to a petulant adolescent that needed to be firmly reprimanded. "I don't believe in over-indulgence, Mr. Brewer. It leads to carelessness."

"To indulgence then." He lifted his glass. The smile was back, charming and dangerous. "Carefully."

**. . . . .**

**A/N:** _I rather quite like how this first chapter turned out. The rest of this story will follow the two of them during their twenty one day adventures, as well as a brief appearance from none other than the rest of the Wasabi Warriors themselves that will tie up everything in the ending. The first few italicized paragraphs in the beginning serve as a foreshadowing, so naturally those events will not occur again until the very end of the story.__  
_

_I hope that you guys enjoyed it, and are interested in what is to hopefully come further. Please remember to subscribe, follow, favourite, and review! I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments about Carousels. I'll try to update as soon as possible._

_Thanks, and lots of love!_

_- Alexi :D_


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